Mind's Eye
by MercerSPN
Summary: Beaten. Bloody. Broken. Unconscious. That's the way Sam's thrown at their door. All John and Dean want to do is get to the bottom of this. But how can they, when Sam can't remember a thing...? ON HIATUS.
1. Chapter 1

_Title_- Mind's Eye

_Author-_ MercerSPN

_Summary- _Beaten. Bloody. Unconscious. That's the way Sam's thrown at their door. All John and Dean want to do is get to the bottom of this. But how can they, when Sam can't remember a thing...?

_Author's Note-_ This is the story that won the poll and I know a lot of you were interested in it, so I really wanted to get it started. Also, this will be a new challenge to me because I really want to see what it's liked to have two stories going at the same time. I think I can handle it.

_Time S_et- Pre-Season. Sam's seventeen, Dean's twenty-one.

_Warning-_ Torture Scenes (flashbacks)

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_Chapter One:_

* * *

The storm clouds hugged each other tight, making sure no moonlight shone through this night. It was damn near pitch black out side, you couldn't really see a thing. The air was cold and crisp, low enough sure to make you shiver. The wind whipped through the trees and the midnight air with viciousness; it whistles a loud when it picked up speed. A mist floated around, thick and white, making it impossible to see more then five feet ahead of you. Bullet-sized rain shot down from the sky, pegging the unprepared dirt, making puddles everywhere. The sound it made was similar to the sound a pellet gun makes: loud, quick, and rapid. All of the animals had ran off and hid tonight, this storm was something they've never seen before.

A cabin, somewhere in the middle of the woods, held two worried men; anxious and near their breaking point. The father, head of everything, was torn to the point where he couldn't think straight. He was literally worried sick and could feel his stomach churning, threatening to unleash it's contents. The son, more terrified than he'd ever let on, paced the living room with both of his hands covering his face. He'd walk back and forth, then stop at the window, look out, see nothing, then start again. He wasn't sure how long he'd been doing this, but it had the potential to be hours. Lately, they've lost track of time, everything seemed to blur together in one big nightmare. Their biggest fear coming to reality: they've lost Sam. Gone. Vanished. The one thing they've always promised to keep safe. The one thing they've promised to protect, never let out of their sight - was gone. And they were clueless on how to get him back.

The sound of the storm filled the cabin. The rain and the wind adding their own soundtrack to this stressful situation. Dean's pacing made a steady beat, and it all seemed to flow together.

Looking up from the bed, John's eyes followed Dean. He watched him walk left, then right, then left again, then right once more...

"Dean, stop," he commanded weakly. His voice was thin, tired, and dreary. "You're making me dizzy."

Finally, he came to a stop and took a seat on the closest bed. He sat across from his father and their eyes met. They both had the same look in their eyes: disappointment. Not in each other, though. But in themselves. No matter how many fights they got in, Sam was always something special to him. His youngest son; the last and most precious thing he'd ever gotten from Mary. This independent attitude was always something John had admired and feared at the same time. His son was sure minded and strong. That was something he was always proud of.

Two weeks, three days.

Sam had been gone for exactly two weeks and three days. They'd searched for Sam every day in every way and they always came back the same. They would've been out searching right now, but the storm has kept them indoors.

Both John and Dean can remember the exact moment Sam was gone. They were in a hunt, investigating missing women who went hiking through the woods on the other side, when somehow they got split up. Dean and Sam went left, John when right. Dean remembered telling Sam to stay close, but when did that kid ever listen? There was a noise, a yell, then a shot coming from where John was. Dean went running and he was sure Sam was coming right behind him, every step. But when Dean approached his father alone, the first words out of his mouth was, "Where's Sam?"

The took off back in Sam's direction, yelling his name. When they reached the spot where Dean and Sam were last together, they found his gun thrown on the floor and nothing else. He was no where in sight. No blood, no signs of a fight, nothing that looked suspicious. All they saw was Sam's gun. They both exchanged worried glances. They know someone , or something, had taken Sam.

They must've ran around that woods about three times, always coming up empty-handed.

When John and Dean met up again they were out of breath and out of luck. The look in each other's eyes was the same. Their eyes read: Sam's gone.

_-Mind's Eye-_

It was just after one o'clock in the morning. He had Sam by the ankles and dragged him through the mud as the storm continued. Sam was flat on his back, unconscious. The man had a firm grip on him and didn't take his well being into consideration. Sam's hands were at his sides, limp and unable to shelter the rest of his body from the hard rain as it beat against his worn out body. Blood was caked on the side of his face and -hell, the rest of his body. God know what was broken and bruised. His skin was tones lighter than it should be, blood loss playing a big factor in this.

The man dragged him further, their destination about ten minutes away.

Sam's body, struggled to keep up the the pace at which the man was pulling him at. His already soaking wet clothes, stained by blood, were being embedded with the dirt he was being pulled through. Rough and careless the man simply pulled harder when Sam's body came into collision with the tree trunks. With the rain coming down at this rate, it was amazing there wasn't a flood.

Sam's head bobbed, his mouth open slightly. His eyes were squeezed shut tight, feeling the pain even in his unconscious state. At his sides, his hands were balled into fists. His shirt was stretched out, it was once white but now it's a deep brown; blood stains, making patterns all the over.

Once they arrived at the cabin, the man gripped Sam up the stairs, his head bouncing on the them hard, not helping the situation at all. When they got to the top, them man let go of Sam's ankles and kicked the front door twice. Just as he heard footsteps rushing toward the door, he disappeared.

_-Mind's Eye-_

The sound seemed to echo off the walls, stopping everything. Dean and John looked at each other, standing at the same moment.

"Did you hear that?" Dean asked, as he made his way to the door, not even waiting for an answer.

John followed close behind.

Dean opened the door cautiously and what he saw stopped his heart mid-beat.

"Sam?"

John and Dean dropped to their knees, but their hands stopped short of coming in contact with Sam. They didn't want to, everything looked... _broken_.

Gently, John pressed his index and middle finger to Sam's neck. Pushing back, he felt a feather of a pulse tapping. John sighed in relief, his head dropping to Sam's chest, thanking whatever God there was that he was still alive.

John wiped his eye, heavy rain and tears mixing. He cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice steady.

"We... we need to get him inside. C'mon Dean."

But Dean didn't move. He was frozen - - in shock. His hand was on the side of Sam's face, his eyes fixed on him.

John stood.

"Dean!" he called, grabbed his attention. "We need to get him inside. _Now_!"

Mentally, Dean shook himself. He took hold of Sam's feet and pressed a firm hand on his back, trying to keep him as still as possible. John grabbed just under his shoulders as they brought him inside together.

As they stepped back in the cabin, one thought came into their mind at the same time: _I'm gonna kill whoever did this to Sam..._

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So, what do you think. Who do you think did this to Sam?  
Please, please review!


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: _Thank you all so much for reading the first chapter. And an extra thank you to the ones who took the time to review. I believe I wrote back to all of you, unless you weren't signed in. But it's all good, I still read what you wrote and took what you said into consideration. Thank you for that. You don't understand how much I appreciate it.

_Writing Fact About Me: _I cannot write a chapter unless I'm listening to The Script. If you're familiar with them, this chapter was written to 'The Man Who Can't Be Moved.' and 'This Is Love'

_Warning: _Torture scenes (flashbacks)

* * *

_Chapter Two:_

* * *

They left the door swaying back and forth; left it defenseless against the heavy and raging winds outside. Eventually, it gave in and slammed shut on it's own. Neither John nor Dean looked back at the sudden noise.

Once inside, though, Dean was forced to walk backwards to the closest bed. He and his father kept their eyes glued on Sam; it was amazing that they even made it to the bed without really looking. If they would've tripped over something and Sam happened to fall, they would've surely lost it. They moved the best they could without going too fast. They were afraid that any sudden move would hurt Sam even more. Finally, Dean stood parallel to the bed. He have his father a quick little nod and they began to let Sam down easily.

"Careful...," John mumbled as his youngest son was lowered to the bed. Both he and Dean slipped their hands out from under him gently. Instantly, Dean sat on the bed next to him. He pressed both of has hands to the side of his brother's face and just held them there. John took a step to the side and caught a good glimpse of Dean's face when the lightning struck, illuminating the room a blueish-white color. He saw Dean's face turned sad. His eyes were near closed, open just enough for tears to slide out. Usually Dean kept his emotions under control, even in the worst of situations. It was unusual for him to breakdown this quickly and easily. This only gave John a worse feeling in his stomach.

Reaching his hand out, John pulled the lamp string and the room brightened slightly.

To his side, he heard Dean gasp slightly. When he looked over, John noticed that Dean had retracted his hands from Sam's face and he held them frozen just about him like he'd something something wrong. When John looked up a little, he saw Sam covered in more bruises then he and Dean both initially thought. He lay there in soaking wet clothes, torn, dirty and bloody. The side of his head had some type of gash on it. It bled freely and made a river of blood down the side of his face and his neck, it didn't stop until it came to the edge of his stretched out shirt collar. His lip was busted, it bled from a cut that was just off to the right of the center of his lip. The left side of his face had the most bruises. That only led John to come to the conclusion that whoever- - or whatever did this to Sam was dominantly right-handed. His left cheekbone was discolored, damn near purple. The blackening of the bruise and the blood mixing together to make it's color. The jacket that he had on when he was taken was removed - gone, probably left wherever he was kept. On his exposed arms were thin cuts, from what looked like a knife. Around his wrists were deep rope burns that had tore away at his skin and left ragged, harsh wounds. His knuckles were bloody, too. One was turned at an awkward angle. That proved that Sam put up one hell of a fight for as long as he could. Even though the sight of seeing his son like this was killing him, he smiled. He was proud. Sam never did give up. Letting his eyes continue, John took notice of Sam's ripped shirt and pants. By the size of it, they seemed to be from a whip of some sort. Whatever was used on him had to be strong enough to break through his shirt and the top layer of skin. Around his neck and from what he could see of Sam's chest there were markings on him. On his chest it looked like scratch marks of some sort. John squinted, trying to keep himself under control. With a more closer look, John realized that the black bracelet Sam usually wore on his right wrist was gone, but that made sense. It probably snapped and fell off during his struggle to defend himself. His belt and sneakers were gone, too. The button to his Jeans was gone. John swallowed hard. He didn't let himself think of anything. Figuring, it was likely that his cellphone was gone, too. Probably broken into a thousand pieces by his captor. Whenever John or Dean had called, it said his phone was disconnected.

"Oh my God," both he and Dean breathed in unison as John silently walked behind Dean. He placed a soft hand on his shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze. He didn't say anything. There wasn't anything to say. No words could fix this. Nothing they said would heal Sam.

Shrugging off his father's hand, Dean leaned forward. He pressed his hand to the side of his face again. Even though all three were soaking wet from being out in the rain, Dean and John had began to warm up. But when Dean's hand came into contact with Sam, his temperature shocked him. Sam was freezing, his body shook uncontrollably. As soft as he could, Dean tapped his face. He didn't want to cause him any pain; but more than anything he just wanted Sam to wake up.

"Sammy?" he called, trying to get any type of reaction he could out of him. But he got nothing in return. Not a twitch of the hand or anything. Sam was still, deadly still. They could barely tell when he took a breath. Trying a few more times, Dean called his name. Nothing happened. John pulled on Dean's damp shirt and brought him to his feet.

He pointed to the bathroom across the cabin. "Go run the water in the bath. We can't keep him like this..." he commanded gently as he replaced Dean's spot on the bed beside Sam. He didn't say anything or try to wake him. He could tell that it was a lost cause right now. Instead, he took hold of his hand and rubbed it gently; with the other, he carded through his hair and tried to give him as much comfort as he could at moment. During this time, he had time to think. Think about how he was foolish enough to let Sam out of his sight. How much he'd like to get his hands on whoever dared to touch his son, let alone do _this _to him. Obviously, they didn't know they picked the wrong kid. They picked a Winchester: their first mistake. He went into deeper thought. His hand fell into a rhythm as he stroked the side of Sam's head. Through all the bumps and bruises, John couldn't help but smirk a little. Yes, Sam was only seventeen, but in this moment, John could've sworn he was seven again. Both he and Dean got that look on their face when they were asleep that literally took years off. John sighed. He scanned Sam again and shook his head, disappointment and anger in himself coming to the surface. Leaning forward, he pressed his forehead to Sam's and whispered, "I'm so sorry, son. I'm gonna fix this. I promise."

_- Mind's Eye-_

Teamwork was always something the Winchesters seemed to do well. And that's just what they needed right now. It took both John and Dean to carry Sam into the bathroom. John had sat on the toilet with Sam in his arms as if he were a small child. Both he and Dean moved gently as they took off all his layers as softly as they could without hurting him. Once his shirt was off, they uncovered more signs of just what type of hell Sam had gone through. Covering his torso were not only the whip-like bruising John had spotted earlier but other marks that were scattered. They looked like they came from a bat or a pipe, something of that sort. John swallowed hard and his eyes met Deans. Both were overwhelmed at this point. But they kept going.

Finally, they got Sam into the water and it almost instantly changed color. The dirt and the blood dissolving off of Sam and mixed in with the water. Moving to the side of the tub, John held Sam's arm, making sure he didn't go under while Dean took off as much dirt and cleaned the wounds as much as he could before they both had to patch and stitch up as much as they could.

"I just don't get it," Dean mumbled was he wiped the wash cloth across Sam's neck and down his arm.

John cleared his throat and brought his eyes to Dean.

"Get what?"

There was silence for a moment before Dean answered with, "Who would do this to Sam? What did he ever do to anyone?"

"It's not Sam's fault," John answered.

Dean nodded. " I know that. I don't care who he happened to piss off. He didn't deserve this. But still... it makes you wonder. I mean, who would do this to him?"

John shrugged.

"I've been wondering the same thing since the moment he was taken," John's voice was flat and steady, his emotions on such an overload that he suddenly felt nothing at all. He looked down at Sam again. His head leaned to the side and rested on John's knee. Still his eyes remained closed and he hasn't moved a muscle yet. That scared both of them more then they said or let on.

Dean dunked the washcloth under the water, swam it around, then brought it back to Sam's skin.

"Yeah but to do this? I mean, beating him up is one thing. Or maybe even taking him for money. But this, this was..."

"Torture," John finished his sentence. His voice was harsh and low. He hated saying it, but there was no going around it. It was apparent.

Dean stood from off his knees. "Doesn't matter. I don't care who it is, I'm gonna kill him."

"Not if I kill them first," John contradicted after a second of pure silence.

Both he and Dean's eyes bet again, and they smiled.

_- Mind's Eye-_

Dean pressed his hands to the top of Sam's back, keeping him in the sitting position as their father wrapped cloth strips around Sam's midsection and then kept them in place with athletic tape they held in their first aid kit. Just minutes before, they had cleaned as many of his cuts as they could find. John had stitched the one of the side of his head and taped a gauze over it to try to keep infection out as much as possible. He had done the same thing for his wrists.

Once he was finished, he had given Dean a nod and they laid Sam down on the bed gently. They pulled the blanket up to his chest. Dean took a seat right next to him, looking down at him with remorse and helplessness. There was nothing else they could do.

By now it was near the next day, probably close to two o'clock in the morning. But still, the storm went strong. The heavy rain could still be heard shoot from the storm clouds and slamming against the dirt.

John stood and went over to the side of the bed that Dean was sitting.

"You should try to get some sleep, okay?" he says to his son.

Dean looks up at him. "I can't sleep; I know I can't."

John sighed slightly, then gave in, knowing he was in the same position.

"Yeah me either."

Dean shrugged.

"I guess it's just another one of those sleepless nights, then," he said softly, then turned all his attention back to Sam as he waited impatiently for his brother to wake.

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How are you liking it so far?  
Please, please review! Tell me what you're thinking :)


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's note: _So we're at Chapter Three. I hope you're all enjoying the story so far. I'd really like to know what you think about the story. I love hearing what you have to say. To me, there's no such thing as it being too long or too short. Write your heart out to me if you wanna! I swear I'll read every word :)

_Warning: _Torture Scenes (flashbacks)

* * *

_Chapter Three:_

* * *

Patience wasn't really a word that was in Dean and John's vocabulary. Sure they had to be patient on hunts and with the little things. But this? Having to wait for Sam to wake up? Waiting to hear what he knows? Waiting for their hearts to break in the fear of the type of condition Sam might be in? The condition past the physical wounds and the obvious scars. John had moved himself to the bed that was a nightstand away from the bed his two sons were in. Sam, still in the same position, lay in the center of the bed. His face was turned slightly toward John who was on his right. He hadn't moved a muscle. No more than breathing weakly every few seconds. Even though the rain pounded hard, relatively blocking out everything else, John and Dean still managed to focus in on Sam's breathing, making sure it didn't stop for more than a second or two. He fill his lungs slowly, a wheezing sound indicating that. When it filled up to what seemed like halfway, Sam made an almost whimpering sound as he exhaled. Dean sat intently next to his brother; his hand on Sam's arm, ready to be there when he opened his eyes. He wanted to help him, comfort him in some way - - _anyway _, but there was nothing he could do to stop the pain he was in.

Minutes passed and nothing happened. Dean looked over at his father, who was leaning forward on the bed with his head pressed on his hands, staring at Sam in the bed. He was lost in thought. Dean could only imagine what he was thinking of...His eyes were worn and tired. Neither of them had slept in what felt like months. His lips were pressed together in a thin line as his hands pushed them up a little, looking like he was about to begin speaking. His foot was tapping quickly, it sped up by the minute. His breathing was slightly upbeat.

"I'm gonna rip them apart," John growled, almost to himself, but it was loud enough for Dean to hear. Dean felt his eyebrows arch a little at the sudden words spoken by this father. The look on his father's face was close to stone. It showed no emotion, but his voice held it all. When he spoke, his voice quivered a little. It was deep, low, and raw. Like those were the first words he'd spoken in a year. He was barely holding it together, Dean could tell. But he was in the same position, too. He didn't know how long they could just sit like this. He looked down at Sam again and it still amazed him how still he was. It chilled Dean to the bone to see that. Even asleep, Sam usually didn't stay still for more then a couple minutes. Whether it was a simply rolling over or thrashing out, caught in a nightmare. He didn't like this. He missed Sam. He missed the way everything used to be.

"What type of animal does this to a kid?" John mumbled. His eyes traced over Sam's sleep-like form again, then he squeezed his eyes shut tight like he was trying to block the image he just saw. Dean could hear the aggravation and anger in his voice. His father's thoughts were eating him alive. He wished there was something he could do to help him, but he knew that Sam waking up, saying he was okay, and telling who hurt him was the only cure. But until that happened, Dean and John were a mess, sitting vigil at Sam's side. "He's just a kid," John muttered into the palms of his hands. Dean didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to do.

John stood, ran his hands through his hair and power walked over to the bed Dean and Sam were on. He leaned over Sam, his hand fell in his hair. He was gentle and soft.

"Sam?" he called. Dean looked up at him, confusion in his eyes. John was the one who said they shouldn't rush it. He was the one who said they should let Sam do it on his own and that he'd wake up when he was ready. John was the one who said that they're taking things slow for Sam's sake. But now he's the one calling him, telling him to wake up. And when he stayed unresponsive John tried again, this time a little louder; his voice no longer a request or a plea, but more of an order. "Sammy!"

Three times he called Sam's name without a single response from him.

"Sam, wake up," he commanded. It shocked Dean how harsh and direct his voice was. His eyebrows were pressed together and his eyes hard and stern. John took hold of Sam's shoulder and shook him. Shook him harder then they both knew he should have. Sam's head bounced on the pillow and even though his eyebrows scrunched in pain, he sill didn't wake. Instantly, Dean's hands jump out, halting his father's arms.

"Alright, Dad, stop!" Dean warned but John kept going. He shook his son, telling him over and over to open his eyes. Dean grabbed his father's hands and pushed him back a few steps. "You're hurting him!"

Finally, John let go and instantly it was like was a different person from just a second ago. He backed away, his eyes fixed on Sam and with his hands tugging at the front of his hair. He shook his head; he had surprised even himself at what he'd just done. But it was damn terrifying to call for your son and he doesn't even move or flinch. It's killing John to know what that's something seriously wrong with Sam but he can't help him. And it's absolutely driving him nuts to know that someone, something out there did this to Sam and he didn't even know where to start to get revenge. All of this was too much right now. He was losing it.

"I'm sor-," he whispered. He didn't know what had came over him. John shook his head again and a tear went flying to the ground. "I... Sam, I'm sorry. I-"

Then he headed for the door. John grabbed the door knob and swung it open. The outside storm rushed into the cabin they were stuck in until it cleared. The rain amplified and the thunder seemed to sake the cabin more that the door was open. John looked outside and for a moment almost closed the door and came back inside. Dean held his hand out in his father's direction. He understood that he was angry with himself. He understood that he ashamed of what he had done, even if he didn't mean it or momentarily lost control. But leaving was stupid. Not just because of the storm, but it really wasn't the time. Right now they needed to be a family. Not just for them, but for Sam when he actually did wake up.

"Where are you doing? Dad, the storm-"

Before he could finish, John was out the door.

_-Mind's Eye-_

"Dad didn't mean it. You know that right?" Dean had finally said aloud after their father had been gone for about twenty minutes. It kept replaying over and over in Dean's mind. He had never in his life seen his father that way and the more he thought about it, the more it scared the hell out of him. He had never seen him look so lost, not only with himself but with reality, too. Dean put his head down, then lifted it slowly. He looked at Sam. Still, he hadn't moved. Dean grunted. Without knowing anything else to do, he took Sam's hand and began to talk.

"Sammy, I don't know who did this to you. But we'll find him, you know we will. And we're gonna kill him and make sure he suffers just like you did. I-," Dean's voice trailed off. "I just can't believe he went this far. Clearly, he doesn't have a conscious. He's a man of mystery, too. I hate him more and more as the hours pass."

The rain filled in the empty space in Dean's words. Dean studied Sam's face for a moment.

"Can you hear me?" he questioned. He knew it was stupid to ask, but hell, what did he have to lose? "Maybe... you can hear me, but you just can't open your eyes yet?" he guessed. "So... move your fingers or something if you can hear me, Sam."

He waited.

One...

Two...

Three...

Four seconds and nothing happened. Dean didn't feel disappointment. He wasn't expecting anything, really. He continued anyway.

"Dad should be back soon," he announced gently to Sam's deaf ears. "He's just overwhelmed right now... I mean, I am, too, but I don't know. I'm trying to hold it together for you, okay? I'm doing the best I can but this beauty rest you're taking is helping, Sammy. I know it's not your fault, I just..." Dean was at a loss. "I just want you to wake up."

Again, he looked up at Sam. No change.

Dean dropped his head, all of his emotion finally getting to him.

"Please, Sammy," he damn near begged as he held his brother's hand tighter.

_-Mind's Eye-_

The first thing John saw when he reentered the cabin soaking wet from the relentless ran were both of his sons fast asleep. He closed the door gently and entered the room more. Almost a second later, Dean's head lifted alertly even though his eyes only opened a slit . John walked in his direction.

"It's just me, son," he spoke gently. "It's okay."

Dean sat up a little more.

"Where'd you go?" he slurred sleepily. He slid his hand from Sam's and rubbed his eye.

John shrugged.

"I just needed to take a walk."

With his hand, John pointed to the empty bed. "Why don't you go back to sleep, Dean? I know you're tired."

Dean shook his head and stayed where he was.

"But Sam-"

"Trust me, you'll know immediately if something happens with Sam. I promise."

Reluctantly, Dean stood up and moved zombie-like toward the other bed.

John smiled slightly, then disappeared in the bathroom.

_-Mind's Eye-_

A noise.

It wasn't loud and without looking out for it, there was no way to hear it.

But John did.

He heard it as clear as day.

Instantly, he stood up and hovered over his youngest son. His hand came down on the side of his face and he tapped it gently.

"Sammy?" he called.

That woke Dean.

He almost jumped out of his bed and over to Sam.

"W'at's happ'nin'?" he questioned.

Sam did it again.

It was a noise.

More of a moan as he was beginning to feel the full effect of the pain he was in.

"Mhmm," he whined as his eyes squeezed shut tighter.

John tapped the side of his face again.

"C'mon, Sam; open your eyes," he coached from the bedside.

Dean stepped in.

"Sam? Come on, Sammy. Look at me, man."

Then it happened.

Sam's eyes fluttered open. Not much, though, but enough.

Both Dean and John felt a weight being lifted off of them, John even laughed a little.

But the confused look on Sam's face, took both of their smirks away.

"Sam? Can you hear me?" Dean questioned.

Sam swallowed hard as his tired eyes darted back and forth from Dean to John, the back to Dean.

Finally, he answered with, "Who are you?"

* * *

_Please let me know what you think! Reviews only help :)_


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's Note:_ Thanks for all the support I've been getting lately from everyone. Thank you to everyone reading the story and a special thank you for the people that take the time to review. I see it like this : I spend days writing a chapter for you, the least you could do is tell me what you thought about it after you've read it, right?

_Warning:_ Torture scenes (flashbacks)

* * *

_Chapter Four:_

* * *

The look on Sam's face showed he was sincere. Even though his facial expressions were lax and his eyes were heavy - he seemed like he'd fall back asleep any second- there was no recognition in his eyes whatsoever as he looked his brother and father in the eyes with pure confusion. He just lay there, sort of like a new born child when you hold them for the first time. They just sort of start at you without much emotion. They don't realize what role you play in their lives; they don't know how much they mean to you or how much you'll mean to them. Both John and Dean were frozen. They didn't know what to say. They couldn't even find anything to say. The shock alone had them at a loss for words. So Sam spoke for a second time, "Who are you?" he asked again. His words were slurred. His voice was rough and just barely over a whisper.

John answered first. He scooted past Dean and sat down on the side of the bed. The look Sam gave him was anything but welcoming. He'd move over if he didn't know it'd hurt like hell. So he had no choice but to let the man sit to the side him. John reached out to touch Sam's arm, but as soon as he raised it, Sam flinched. John dropped his hand and his heart dropped with it. This was killing him. Instead, John kept his hands to himself, but he leaned a little closer to his youngest son.

"Sammy," he started. He tried to keep the fear out of his voice, but it was pretty much impossible. How's he supposed to feel? His son doesn't even know him! John placed his hand on his chest. "You don't remember?"

Sam didn't answer. He blinked slowly. Then his eyes stayed closed for a moment. John and Dean exchanged glances and they began to think that he'd fallen asleep or passed out from the pain, but shortly after his eyes opened again; confusion still written all over his bruised face. Sam looked over at Dean, then back at John. The air was thick. Tension, worry, pain, anxiousness , and uncertainty was swarming all around the medium sized cabin. The pain Sam felt was impossible for him to ignore. His head, his stomach, his arms, his back - everything. All of it hurt. He just wanted to go back to sleep. He just wanted to make it stop. Looking down at the bruising on his arms, Sam asked sleepily, "Did.. you do this to me?"

It was like a shot through the heart for both John and Dean. Again, they looked at each other. For Sam to even think that his father and brother were someone who'd actually do something like this to him was enough for them to go crazy. They both couldn't believe it. But all their emotions were out of control and they didn't know how to feel. Should they be happy that Sam's awake or terrified that he couldn't remember them? They just wanted him to be okay. But he's not really okay, is he? This is not okay. Not remembering your brother and father was not a good sign.

This time, Dean stepped in.

"Sam... we'd _never _do anything to hurt you. We're you're family, Sammy. We want to find the person that did this to you," he tried to explain as easily and as simply as he could. "We're not gonna hurt you. The last thing we'd ever want to do is hurt you."

Silence.

"Family?" Sam asked. His head pounded, everything was fuzzy. He could hardly concentrate anymore. The pounding in his head was killing him. It gave a haze around everything he saw and heard. He was confused and scared. He didn't know what to do. Family? If he had family, wouldn't he remember them? Why was he here? Why was he in so much pain? What did these people want with him? How could he get away? "I don't have family... I think." Sam's eyebrows squinted in confusion. He didn't know what to think.

The younger man shook his head in disagreement. "Sure you do, Sammy. You've got me and you've got dad. _We're _your family."

Dean stressed those words. If Sam never remembered anything in his life, Dean at least wanted him to know what he could trust him and their father. They at least wanted Sam to feel safe around them. Dean shook his head slightly as his heart ached for his little brother. It was too much for Dean to see him like this. It was sad. The kid had been through to much. He'd taken a horrible beating. Now he doesn't remember anything? Dean sighed. He'd switch places with Sam in a heartbeat.

Sam's face was skeptical but he didn't say anything.

"Do you remember… anything?" Dean questioned. His eyebrows arched at a weird angle, waiting for Sam's reply. After a few seconds, Sam's face changed from confused, to focused, to disappointment, to surprise, to panic in a matter of seconds. That's the moment everything finally dawned on him. He didn't remember. He didn't remember _anything. _

"… why can't I remember?" he asked. Sam's voice was intertwined with horror as the realization finally hit him. Now he sounded like he could cry any second.; but they all knew he wouldn't. Sam looked away and they could tell he was searching his empty mind for any type of information but everything was blank. Nothing. Nothing at all. No memories of a childhood, of a family , of school , of old girlfriends, of anything. Taking this into consideration, Sam was shocked he remembered how to speak. But that seemed like the only thing he actually did remember.

"That's what we're trying to find out, Sam. And we will. I promise you that. Whoever did this to you is not gonna get away with it," John answered, his voice determined.

Sam's face scrunched and he turned away from them, he cried out a little and his already labored breathing sped up slightly. Both John and Dean moved closer, hovering over him, unsure of what was happening. They called his name, asking what was wrong and for a while Sam just lay there in pain, breathing heavily and painfully.

"Hurts…" was all he could manage to squeeze out. At his sides, his hands were balled into fists as he did all he could to make the pain go away. Sam felt dizzy and even though his eyes were closed, he could feel the world spinning around him giving him a horrible feeling in his stomach. He couldn't tell you why, but he reached for Dean. Of course, Dean didn't decline the invitation to help. Without hesitation, he took hold of Sam's shoulder and coached him soothingly from the side of the bed. Sam couldn't explain how, but he felt a little better with him there. Him - a total stranger. Him - someone who claimed to be his brother. Him - who said that he wouldn't hurt him. But there was something about Dean.

Sam felt a hand in his hair, stroking it soothingly. Then, a shushing sound tickled Sam's hear when he whimpered, the pain getting to him. He tried to open his eyes, but suddenly everything was too bright to handle. He couldn't really hear much anymore. Everything came in waves: the pain, his hearing, his sensitivity to sounds and light, the feeling of fear and feeling safe, the feeling of wanting to push Dean's hand away and the feeling of wanting to pull him closer, the feeling of wanting to deal with this alone and the feeling of wanting someone to tell him 'everything's gonna be okay' - everything.

Sam's hand clutched Dean's shirt as consciousness threatened to leave him. Dean took hold of his hand. Sam tried to look, he could tell Dean was saying something to him, but Sam couldn't hear anything anymore. Nothing at all. He could just barely see his lips moving quickly. Sam didn't like the look on his face. Without words, he looked scared. He even looked somewhere near afraid, and that only scared Sam more.

"… don't… Sammy, no…you can't…"

Squinting, Sam's eyes got heavier and he wasn't sure, but he was almost positive he was shaking.

When he looked up again, Dean's lips were still moving but his vision was fading.

And no matter… how hard ….he tried…to stay awake … he couldn't.

_-Mind's Eye-_

_"Have you had enough?" the man growled even though he took another swing at Sam. Instantly, Sam's head swung to the side due to the force of the blow. Blood spilled through his teeth and over his lips. It flowed onto the ground of the basement Sam was confined to. Coughing, Sam turned back to the man, not egging him on, but not giving up either. Sam spat and it came inches from the man's face. He smiled, cocking his hand back. _

_If Sam wasn't kept in place by the rope that was digging into his wrists and ankles, he'd move. Hell, he would've fought back. But he couldn't. He was stuck. Forced to feel each and every punch with all the power the man had; and damn- he was strong. Fighting back was what got him tied up in the first place. Sam had gave the man a black eye and a busted lip. He had fought him off as much as he could before the man simply overpowered him._

_"What happened, tough guy?" he asked. His voice was scratchy and deep. It made Sam shiver. "You were all confident and cocky yesterday..."_

_Sam forced himself to look the man in the eyes. He wasn't giving up. He wasn't backing down, either. _

_"Why are you doing this to me?" Sam questioned, and even though his eyes were filled to the brim with tears, he didn't dare to let any of them fall. _

_The man only laughed. Seconds later, he delivered another punch to Sam's face, then to his stomach and Sam could've sworn he heard something crack. Doubling over, Sam coughed, blood just flowing out of his mouth. He saw black dots all around in his vision. Sam just wanted him to stop. He just wanted to go home and be with Dean and his Dad again._

_"You gonna beg to me stop?" he taunted, taking another swing at Sam. _

_Then he took another..._

_And another..._

_Then three more, but still, Sam didn't mutter anything but, " I wouldn't even dream of giving you that type of satisfaction."_

_That stopped the man for a second, then his mouth broke into a smile. Seconds later, the man left. _

_Sam had thought it was done, that it was over for the day, but it wasn't. _

_When the man returned, he had a bat in one hand and a whip in the other..._

_"I'm not stopping 'till you beg," he declared._

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Reviews are always loved!


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's Note:_ Thanks for all the support I've been getting lately from everyone. Thank you to everyone reading the story and a special thank you for the people that take the time to review. The feedback that you give is always wanted, helpful , and encouraged so please tell me what you're thinking.

_Warning: _Torture scenes (flashbacks)

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_Chapter Five: _

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_Dean and John came together in the middle of the woods out of breath and out of ideas. They panted toward each other, the look in their eyes telling the same story : Sam was gone; they couldn't find him. Dean bent forward, pressing his hands to his knees. He and his father had ran around this forest for well over three hours calling for Sam, trying to pick up on any trail, anything!- but each time they crossed paths, they still had nothing. John patted Dean's back, instructing him to stand up properly._

_"You didn't find anything?" John asked. He wiped his mouth, hot air rushing from his lungs, out his mouth, and mixing with the thick air. Dean's face read disappointment. He shook his head, catching his breath. He looked around again, hoping to magically find a lead or something that will help with the search for Sam. He was out of ideas. He had been for a while now, but he didn't dare to say that to his father. He knew that they weren't going to stop looking. Never. _

_Shaking his head, Dean replied , "No, nothing. I went down by the creek and didn't see anything. So I started walking back and I could've sworn that I heard something. So I followed the sound. But then I lost it, I-"_

_"Lost it?"_

_Dean shrugged. "Like whatever it was, it just stopped. I don't know. I guess it must've been some type of animal or something. I swear, I stood in the same spot for a good ten minutes waiting for the sound to start again, but I didn't. "_

_John nodded. _

_"Yeah, I got nothing either."_

_Walking toward the direction the Impala was parked in, the father and son duo headed in that direction. _

_"You should've kept a closer eye on him, Dean. I thought I taught you better," John mumbled, just under his breath. But Dean heard it perfectly and he could feel his jaw drop slightly as he wasn't expecting that from his father. It was so random and harsh - even for his father. Adjusting his gun, Dean thought about what he had heard and how he should answer. _

_Dean shook his head. "What?"_

_John shrugged. "I did. I thought I taught you better... I guess I was wrong."_

_Feeling his eyes bulge, Dean tightened his grip on the gun. _

_"_I _should've kept a closer eye on him? Me? What about you? You leave everything on me? Everything that you're supposed to do, I do instead," Dean contradicted, suddenly feeling what it's like to be in Sam's shoes. In the back of his mind, Dean was sure John's words were only out of fear and love. He was scared out of his mind, more then he'd ever let on and he couldn't hold it in any longer. There was so much guilt he felt that he just needed to release it. He needed to push the blame on someone else. But what he didn't understand fully was that Dean was going through everything he was. Dean was going through the same guilt he was. Sam was taken when he was with them. No, he wasn't wandering the street by himself. He was with them. Therefore, to Dean and John, that means they were careless and let their main focus get let out of sight, even if it was just for a moment. It just goes to show, everything can change in a blink of an eye or in this case, in a second or two..._

_John dropped his gun. And he couldn't tell you why. Surely, he wasn't going to hit him, he knew that, but the anger and stress he was feeling left him momentarily out of control of his body. Dean had stopped cold, a few steps behind his father. He had clutched his gun. Dean gulped, unsure of what exactly was happening. _

_"I risk everything for you two! You know that! And you'd say something like that?" John's face was pure red by now, his eyes darted back and forth as he stared into Dean's. _

_Eventually, Dean spoke up. _

_"All you do is risk our lives. Nothing more. Nothing less. I take care of this family more than you do or ever could. I do everything for Sam. I was taking care of him before I could take care of myself! What type of father lets his kids live like that?" Dean stopped for a second, then continued. His voice was deeper then usual. His eyes had hardened when he spoke. He had looked his father clean in the eye as he growled, "It's your fault Sam's gone."_

_John snapped. He shoved Dean back a few steps, then instantly regretted it. His eyes went from angry and deadly to sorry and regretful. _

_Dean looked at him - shock written all over his face. But he didn't even think about shoving him back. The last thing they need to to be truly angry at each other. Instead, Dean adjusted the gun his hand and walked away. He could hear his father's footsteps following him a while back. _

_He knew that all of this could be resolved with a good talking, or better yet, if they just found Sam. Dean hated fighting - with his family, that is. He dreaded it when Sam and their father would fight, too. But Dean knew that they weren't actually angry with each other. They were frustrated. Frustrated that Sam was gone. Frustrated that they couldn't find him. Frustrated with the thoughts they had about what could be happening to him at this exact moment and this exact time. Frustrated with everything until Sam comes home. _

_Dean let it sit with him for a second and it amazed him that this is what it took for he and his father to start being on different terms. Usually, they didn't fight. Not even over the slightest thing. If anything, they fought about about John shouldn't fight with Sam. But that was it. Dean shook his head, coming to the realization of it. Sam was pretty much what held this family together. And he really couldn't imagine life without him and the fact that there was even the slightest possibility that Sam wasn't coming back, made Dean literally want to cry._

_-Mind's Eye-_

He watched from a safe distance. The heavy and relentless rain didn't stop him. From the cap he wore in his head, rain drops hit the top, rolled to the brim, then dripped down his face in a way that made him all the more creepy. He stared at the family of three ,emotionless. At his sides, he curled and uncurled his fists slowly. The man saw John Winchester more vulnerable than his son who lay on the bed, trying to hang on to life. For a while they had lingered over the kid, probably trying to wake him, but it didn't work.

The man smiled.

He had done well.

The kid had put up one hell of a fight and it took all the rope he had to keep him restrained. He was pleased with the way John had taught him how to defend himself - but come on, he was a teenager , a kid, and he sure as hell wasn't going to be the dominant one in this situation. The kid had fought back for a long as he humanly could and the man had admired his stubbornness and his persistence. He was strong and he took pain well. Better than any other seventeen year old the man had seen, that is.

But he was on a mission and could stop at nothing.

Now, looking at them, he was glad he had put the kid through so much hell. He was glad he had gotten the pleasure of hearing him scream, begging for him to stop. He was glad that he had felt every punch he delivered to Sam. He was proud that he had gotten to see the blood spill over his lips and stain not only the ground but his clothes. Then man felt happiness and victory when he remembered the sounds the kid made when he was hit over and over again. He would always cherish the look in his eyes every time he said , "Please... just let me go. I didn't do anything to you. Please. I want to go home."

John had stood. He was saying something to his older son. His hands were moving, pointing somewhere the man couldn't see from his angle. The older son stood for a moment, then walked toward the kitchen area. He had reached into one of the lower cabinets, took out a small bucket, filled it with water, took ice from the freezer, and headed back over to where the two beds were. John, at the same time, had gone into the bathroom. Both he and his son met at the nightstand; Dean with the ice-filled water and John with a washcloth an a pull bottle.

They were talking, having a soft conversation among themselves. The man wondered what they were talking about. He hoped it was about it him and all about the vows they made to each other to get him back. He sure as hell loved a good challenge. He prayed that they were talking about how much they wanted to kill him for what he had done to the youngest of their family. He yearned to hear the words escape John's lips, promising every God there ever possibly could be that he'd find him and rip him apart piece by piece. The man smiled again, accomplishment written all over his wet face. He couldn't wait.

By now, John's son had dunked the washcloth in the water, wrung it out a little, and placed it on Sam's head. He must've been running a fever or something. The look on both John and his son't face were all but happy. They were worried, scared for the kid. John had sat down, took the washcloth from Sam's forehead, and ran it along side his face. The man tilted his head to the side, surprised at how gentle they were with Sam. The man smirked. He didn't even know that the words 'love' and 'caring' were in John's vocabulary. He smirked again as he tried to picture John's softer side but only saw darkness- unable to picture him doing anything but yelling, screaming, and commanding orders.

John had stepped away from his sons for a moment and toward the window with the open blind that allowed the man to peek through. He was headed right toward the man. Just as he got close enough to even spot him, the man disappeared.

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Directed at: _Ellie Clemons & Devil917 , you both asked pretty much the same thing in a different way, but the answer is the same : No, Sam wasn't raped. _

Directed at everyone: _Please, please review! They only give me motivation to write quicker and update faster, also, feedback helps and is always taken into consideration as I write the next chapter; so please review :)_


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's Note: _Sorry for the bit of a delay. I've been busy. But hopefully you enjoy this chapter and let me know what you think.

_Warning: _Torture scenes (flashbacks)

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_Chapter Six:_

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It was quiet. Too quiet for either Dean or John's liking. It felt like they were back at square one, or even pushed back further than that. Both men were at a loss of what to do. They'd been able to keep their hopes alive telling themselves that Sam's help would be all they needed to get back at whoever did this to him, but all of that went out the window. And as much as they wanted to kill whoever hurt Sam, they couldn't. They had to focus on Sam. He really needed them right now. So until Sam was feeling better and was able to remember what happened, there was no way of getting to the bastard, no matter how much they wanted to.

Killing time had hard, but killing time when you're worried was even worse. They fact that they were stuck inside kept everything crammed into one - but they were used to small living spaces; though they were used to being able to go take a walk, get some space and fresh air if they really needed it. This storm was forbidding anyone from leaving. John had gone out earlier and he regretted it as soon as he stepped out into the rain. But he needed to get moving. He needed to burn off some steam so he didn't stop.

"You hungry? You haven't eaten in hours," John asked softly, walking into the kitchen area and opening the refrigerator. He rummaged through the shelves, looked up at Dean, then back into the fridge. Across the small cabin, Dean shrugged. He was never one to turn down a meal, but he really wasn't in the mood to eat. Not now. All he wanted to do was be there for Sam when he woke up again. He wasn't thinking about himself right now. Dean took hold of Sam's wrists and studied the bandaging their father had put around it. Blood had began to seep through the white tape and padding. It'd have to be changed pretty soon. The one on his head, too. They bleeding had stopped after it was stitched up, but still, everything had to stay clean. The last thing Sam needed was an infection of some sort. Looking down at his brother, Dean shook his head. Everything always happened to Sam. Everything. Dean just wished that he had time to be a kid every once in a while. He just wants him to be happy, but he can't. Not with this life - no one can.

In the background, the sound of something sizzling could be heard on top of the stove. The smell of bacon made its way through the small cabin. Dean felt his mouth water a little, and his stomach began to growl a little. It _had _been a while since he'd eaten something. It had been a while for both of them. They didn't really spend their time eating and hanging around when Sam was gone. Dean couldn't tell you anything that happened during that time. All of it was a blur. Like a never-ending nightmare.

"Do you think he's gonna be okay?" Dean asked. He knew it was a stupid question. He knew it, but he couldn't help but ask. It was obvious that John was going to tell him something like, "Sammy's gonna be just fine. Just give him time", but Dean just needed to hear it. Maybe then, he'd be able to convince himself of it. He didn't want to say it out loud, but he was scared. Probably more scared than he'd ever been in his life. Something just wasn't right. All of it. It was just... wrong. It gave Dean this horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach that made him feel nauseous.

John turned around toward Dean; and even from across the room, Dean could see tears in his father's eyes. The tears made them shine, even in the dim lighting of the cabin. Dean couldn't describe the feeling it gave him. Suddenly, he didn't feel safe anymore. It had been a while since he'd seen his father cry. Sure, when Sam was gone, he was upset, there was no getting around that. But he didn't see him cry. But now, just standing there, that's what he was doing. His father, his hero, his role model, his shelter, his guard, the one who was always strong - was reduced to tears. Dean squinted at the image of his father was was unsure of how to feel. All the emotion and anger he'd been trying his hardest to keep under control for the past few weeks were finally ganging up on him. It just hit him and John didn't have a way to hide it.

In his hands the spatula shook a little. Dean stood. John swallowed hard as he struggled to find the words. "God, Dean, I- I really hope so..."

That response was the complete opposite of what Dean wanted to hear.

_-Mind's Eye-_

_Holding onto pride and consciousness isn't easy. But Sam had been doing it for about twenty minutes and he was damn near his breaking point for both. He'd stayed strong for a week now and it had been pure hell. This man was crazy. He was relentless and he had no mercy or sympathy for any human being. But the thing that Sam couldn't understand was why this had happening to him. What did he do? How did he even get in this situation? _

_The man raised the bat. It was black, thick, and made of pure wood. Sam flinched as he anticipated the pain he was about to receive. When it connected, the air was pushed out of Sam's lungs as such a speed he could've sworn he head something rip. He couched, but inhaling hurt too much. His instincts wanted for him to be able to grab his stomach. But his hands were tied, stretched out at his sides like he was about to grow wings and take flight. He couldn't move his hands - hell, he couldn't feel his arms anymore. The rope around his wrists were too tight. He'd been tired up like this for days. Sleeping was something that didn't come easy. It usually only happened with his body was too exhausted to support him anymore and had no other choice but to give up. _

_Again, the man came down with the bat on Sam's side. He cried out loud. He fell forward, but the ropes around his wrists didn't allow him to fall to the ground. Blood crawled up Sam's throat and into his mouth. The thick liquid seeped through his teeth and spillover over onto the ground. _

_Sam panted, breathing getting harder and harder. He was sure something was broken. Above him, he heard the man laugh a little _

_"Daddy would be disappointed in you, Sammy."_

_The man dropped the bat. The sound of it echoed off the walls and rang in the back of Sam's ears. He felt hands underneath his chin, making him look the man straight in the eye. Sam gulped, trying to keep the room from spinning. _

_"Look at you... you're crying." The man laughed again. _

_"But you're a Winchester! Winchester's don't cry!" he mocked. He puffed his chest out and saluted like he was a soldier. He patted the side of Sam's face and smiled at him. "Toughen up Sammy-boy."_

_Sam's bottom lip quivered as he tried to keep a straight face but was failing horribly by now. Thin tears slid down his face and mixed with the blood and the sweat. Sam's eyes were hard though - and if looks could kill, the man would be on the floor convulsing by now. Sam balled his hands into fists and uncurled them repeatedly. _

_He tried to keep his voice steady, but he couldn't. Sam's voice was thin and broken. It shook and it hurt to even talk. _

_"Why... why are you doing t-this to me?"_

_The man smiled a fake smile. _

_"That's something you'd have to ask your daddy..."_

_-Mind's Eye-_

John stared out the window, watching the rain. It was deep in the night, now. Sometime past midnight. Sam hadn't moved a muscle since earlier. Dean hadn't really said much. John was in his own world. Everything was becoming a blur again. John rubbed his eye, tore his gaze from out the window and onto Dean and Sam. Dean still had himself planted at Sam's bedside. He carded through Sam's hair as his lips moved slowly, talking to Sam in a hushed tone, saying things that he only trusted Sam's unconscious hearing for his words to reach.

John cleared his throat.

"Maybe you should get some sleep, Dean. I'll sit with him."

Without looking up, Dean shook his head. "I'm fine, Dad. Really."

John sat down in the bed across from his son's. He looked over at them.

"Anything?" he asked Dean, gesturing to Sam.

Dean shrugged. "His hand moved a couple times... but, no."

Nodding, John lay back. "I'm gonna try to get a couple hours, alright? Call if you need anything."

Dean only nodded in response. John turned over, putting his back to his sons and closed his eyes.

Only thirty minutes later, Dean was finding harder and harder to stay awake. So instead of fighting it, he laid down next to Sam. For a while, Dean just stared at the ceiling, but his eyes were getting heavier. So he turned onto his side, made his breathing match Sam's, and closed his eyes.

"I'll be here when you're ready to wake up, Sammy."

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_I hope you feel like reviewing! They're always loved and wanted. _


	7. Chapter 7

___Author's Note: _As always, thank you to everyone reading and a special thank-you to everyone who takes the time to review. Getting to read them is really a treat. So please, keep sending them.

_Warning: _Torture scenes ( flashbacks )

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_Chapter Seven:_

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The cabin was quiet. Dead quiet. Nothing but rain acting as background music for the three sleeping Winchesters. These last few weeks have been stressful. It was good for them to finally get some rest, to relieve some of the stress. John had woken up for a moment. He rolled over, checking on Sam was his first instinct. He fell on to his side and sat up on the bed. The sleep in his eyes stayed on heavy as he rubbed them, trying to keep them open.

There, he saw Sam where he had last saw him: lying flat on his back, one hand across his stomach, sleeping too deeply for either John or Dean's liking. It was scary, you know. Trying to wake someone up, but no matter what you do they won't answer you. It gives John the weirdest feeling in the pit of his stomach. John raised his head a little to find Dean on the other side of Sam, sleeping. John could tell that it was the first time in a while that he had gotten this good of a sleep. With Sam back, and in reaching distance, Dean felt good. He felt at ease. And John understood that. And, honestly, he was damn proud of it. Growing up, all John told Dean was 'Look out for you brother. Watch Sam. Keep Sam safe. Watch out for Sammy,' And John was sure that that made their relationship stronger. Sam was Dean's number one priority. John knew that. And in the pit of his heart and mind, he knew that Dean would choose Sam over him if he desperately had to… and he was okay with that. John's kind of envious of his son's relationship. They were always there for each other, no matter how many stupid arguments or little disagreements they have. They seemed to have connected on a level that John could never reach. But he wished he could. He waned to have that kind of relationship with Dean and Sam. But he had ruined that a long time ago. He's just thankful they have each other.

For a moment, John thought about waking Dean up, telling him to go to sleep in John's bed and he'll take the couch. But he decided against it. He knew Dean could want to stay there. Being able to be there for Sam was the best medicine for Dean right now. Hell, it was the best for the both of them.

John stood and made his way to both of his sons. For a moment he just stood there. Just for a moment. He remembered when he used to do this when they were just kids. He'd come home late from a hunt to find both of them sleeping. Most of them time they'd be in their own beds, but every once in a while he'd find them asleep in the living room area of whatever room they were in. He remembered once, he found them asleep at the kitchen table that was closest to the window that had a view of outside. They had tried to stay up for him, but couldn't stay awake for that long. John remembered smiling to himself, setting down his bags, then going to them. And just like now, he'd stand by them and just look. He'd thank whatever God there was that both of them were alright and breathing. He'd say thanks for being able to come back to them.

This time was similar. John was just thankful at this moment. He was just glad he had his sons.

Reaching out, John let his hand fall on Sam's forehead, then the side of his face. His fever had subsided some; which was good. Worrying about a fever should be the least of Sam's worries right now. He had been though enough. Under his hand, Sam stirred. John thought he was waking. But instead, he moved his head a little, turning toward John's hand and feel still again. Under his eyelids, John could see his eyes moving. That was good, right?

With his free hand, John pushed the washcloth back into the water. It was a little on the warm side, but he decided to use it anyway. He wrung out the cloth, folded it, and placed it on Sam's forehead. The dampness of it made the ends of his bangs curl slightly. John smirked. It reminded him of when Sam was younger.

With that, John went back to his bed. He let the sound of the rain, and both of his sons synchronized breathing lull him back to sleep.

_-Mind's Eye-_

_"Maybe if you ask me real nice, I'll stop," the man mocked. He paced in a circle around Sam. The mask on his face hiding his identity. In his hand, a knife. It was thick and could cut you without much effort. Sam sat in the middle of the room. His hands and legs were tied to the chair, keeping him from being able to move away from the man and his knife. He stopped behind Sam , took hold of his neck, and held the knife there. Sam held his breath._

_"Go ahead, ask me. Ask me to leave to leave you alone. Ask me to take you back to your daddy. Go. Ask me."_

_Sam was silent. He kept his eyes fixed on the floor and refused to move them from there. He felt the man press the knife. It took all his energy not to flinch. But he knew that he couldn't. Any sudden movement would surely break his skin. Sam kept as still as possible._

_Behind him, he heard the man grunt. The knife was pulled away cleanly, and Sam sighed a small sigh of relief._

_"You're a stubborn little fucker, aren't you?"_

_Sam was quiet._

_Before he knew it, a hard smack was delivered to the back of his head. For a moment, his vision was blurry. He blinked a few times and it went back to normal._

_"I'm talking to you."_

_Sam was still silent._

_"I **said**, I'm taking to you."_

_At his sides, Sam's hands curled together, the circulation wasn't getting to them. They began to tingle._

_A punch..._

_Then another..._

_Then two more... all delivered to Sam's face. Sam's head fell forward, unable to protect himself from the man's swinging arms. He coughed._

_"Are you gonna talk now?" He hit the back of Sam's head. "Huh? You gonna say something?"_

_Sam bit his lip, not letting a sound escape him._

_Above him, he saw the man's shadow coming closer. The knife reached Sam's arm and slid across it roughly. He literally could feel each part of his skin break as blood was released and able to run freely down the side of his arm and onto the chair he was tied to. The man did it again._

_And again._

_And again._

_And again._

_Over and over and over again until he was sure Sam was ready to give in._

_But the kid was tough, he'd give him that. Still he hadn't said a word though he could see him shaking the in chair, his eyes wet and red. The man smiled._

_"You ready to talk now, kid?"_

_As expected, Sam didn't say anything._

_The man shrugged._

_"Fine," he said. With the hand not wrapped around the knife, he removed the mask._

_Sam gasped._

_The man laughed._

_"It's not all fun and games now is it, boy?"_

_-Mind's Eye-_

Eyes.

Dean felt eyes on him.

Eyes piercing though him, trying to get his attention.

Eyes set on his face, sending invisible wave lengths into his dreamless dream, brining him back into the real world.

Dean squinted at the dim light as he pulled his eyelids apart to find Sam's eyes looking at him almost eagerly.

"Sammy?"

Sam blinked.

"You- you okay?" Dean questioned, trying to wake up.

Sam blinked again. "My head hurts," he finally said, simply.

Dean almost laughed.

"Well I would think so. You've got stitches in your head. Got a pretty good crack in that egg-head of yours."

Almost robot-like, Sam's hand reached his head. Gracefully, he touched he side of his head and flinched at the sudden pain.

"Well don't touch it, genius."

Sam dropped his hand.

"My head hurts," he repeated.

Dean sat up, looked over at their father who was still asleep, then back at Sam.

"We have Aspirin..."

Dean got up, went to the bathroom, got the medicine and a glass of water then headed back to Sam. By then, Sam had turned over and was in the middle of trying to sit up.

"Are we on a hunt?" Sam asked.

Dean almost dropped the glass.

"What?" he asked, a smile forming.

Sam's eyebrows scrunched. "Are. We. On. A. Hunt," Sam asked again, breaking the words into their own sentences.

Dean laughed. A happy laugh. A relieved laugh. He set the glass down on the nightstand and hugged Sam. But Sam, confused, pulled back and looked at him with a weird expression.

"That hurts," he said softly.

Dean apologized quickly, then reached to the right to wake his father.

He quickly told him that Sam seemed to be okay... memory-wise, that is.

John's face stayed serious.

"Sam... do you know who did this to you, then?"

Sam was quiet for a moment.

His facial expressions said it all.

He knew.

They could tell.

"Oh my God," Sam mumbled, he looked up at his father and brother with a horrified look on his face.

"Sam," Dean began. "who did this?"

Sam shook his head, like he didn't even want to believe it himself. But he finally said:

"... I think it was Bobby."

* * *

_Please review, let me know what you think. _


	8. Chapter 8

_Author's Note: _Guys, I'm so sorry for the wait. It's been like... two weeks. I apologize. School's been a bitch. But I'm back so it's all good. On the other hand, thanks so much for all the reviews I've been getting. Thanks so much for the support. Please, keep them coming.

_Warning: _Torture Scenes (flashbacks)

* * *

_Chapter Eight:_

* * *

"I don't _know_," Sam stressed as he rubbed the side of his head. His index fingers worked his temples in a soothing motion. His head was spinning right now, and even though the room didn't have much light, his eyes were killing him. Sam forced himself to look at his brother, who hand retracted his hand and placed both of them in his own lap. Dean and John exchange glances, both of them unsure of that to say - what to feel - anything.

John stood, but immediately sat back down. "Bobby?" he questioned again for about the sixth time. Sam didn't even bother answering. John shook his head quickly. "I- it can't be... Bobby? Sam, are you sure?"

Sam could only shrug. He _didn't _know what to think anymore. He thought he was right. No, he was _sure _he was right; but all he wanted to be was wrong. Bobby? How could Bobby do this to him. And what's worse is when Sam remembers what happened to him, Bobby didn't even seen bothered about what's happening. He talked to Sam like he didn't even know him anymore , but he talked about things all too personal - he talked about things that only Bobby could know. So... it had to be him, right. Sam closed his eyes for a moment, images of he and Bobby in that room flooded his head. The anger in Bobby's face. The whip in his hand. The blood spilling from Sam. The pain...

Sam cringed and shook his head. He was confused. He didn't understand.

"I don't believe it. I just can't," John said as he ran his index finger along his brow. "Bobby loves you, Sam. He wouldn't do this to you. You're...confused-"

"But I'm not, though," Sam cut in, a little louder than he should've. Just the raise of his voice sent a vibration through his head. Again, Sam cringed. He didn't mean to get this loud or this worked up, but what else could he do. They asked for the truth and when he told them, they don't believe it. He felt Dean's hand on his leg, trying to comfort him, but he couldn't resist the urge to move away. He understood what Dean was trying to do. He understood the support he was trying to give him. But there was just something about being touched... it _bothered _Sam. He moved away. The look on Dean's face was hard to pin-point, but he looked sad. Or maybe rejected.

John cleared his throat. "Sammy..."

Sam looked.

John took his time, finding his words. He leaned forward a little in Sam's direction. Sam could see his Adam's apple quiver a little, still searching for what he should say. "Are you sure? I mean... maybe it was Bobby that saved you? Or maybe you just... _thought _the man was him. Maybe-"

"Dad," Sam cut in. His voice was tired, low, weak. "All I remember is Bobby. Bobby hitting me. Bobby tying me up. Bobby hurting me. Just Bobby."

Dean's head dropped. "Damn it," he cursed under his breath. He interlocked his fingers slowly, sighing.

John sat up more. He looked Sam over. He still looked as bad as he did earlier. The only good thing was that he was awake; but that didn't look like it would last long. Sam's eyes looked heavy - like they weighed a ton. His breathing was thin and raspy. Sam was clearly overwhelmed. Not only with emotion, but with pain and with memories. John wished there was something he could do to help him. Sam sat back a little, a pained look arose on his face. He groaned.

"What's wrong?" Dean quickly asked, alert.

Sam swallowed hard. He took a while. "My head... it's killing me," he manages to say just as his hands come up to support his head. They heard Sam hiss when his hands brushed over the stitched John has put into him. Sam closed his eyes, hoping that it would all go away soon. He just wanted it to stop. The younger Winchester's breaths came in short panting gasps. He saw little black dots forming in his vision.

He felt Dean's weight being lifted off the bed, then his presence hovering above him. Soft hands were on his shoulders, then one on his back rubbing small circles.

"Deep breaths, Sam. Just ride it out, it'll go away," Dean mumbled to Sam, the worry and fear clearly written in his eyes.

Under his hands, Dean felt Sam move, twisting his body. He was trying to get up. Dean pushed him back.

"Whoa, stay still, Sammy."

But he didn't listen. His hand moved from his forehead to over his moth.

"Dean, I'm gonna be sick..."

Instantly, Dean and John exchanged glances. John was up in a second to help his sons. As quickly and as gently as they could they got Sam to the bathroom. It was hard, his legs were almost numb, and they pretty much carried him than just assisted him.

"Gently, gently... easy, Dean," John coached to his oldest son as they maneuvered Sam onto the cold tile. They had him hunch over the toilet, his hand supporting him on the floor. Dean took a seat on the side of the tub, his hand still on Sam's back, trying to comfort him as much as possible. Sam coughed, then cringed. His ribs were bruised, some may even be broken, couldn't handle the pressure of his stomach contracting like this.

Sam's whole body went stiff and his stomach emptied. Sam cried out , his eyes watering. The pain he felt in his stomach was almost too much to handle. He took hold of the side of the toilet bowl. He was panting, though that hurt like hell, too. His vision was blurry. His stomach clutched again. Sam yelled. It was like lightning in his midsection. All around him he could hear his father and brother talking to him. He couldn't hear them, though. He literally couldn't hear anything. All his body registered was pain. Pain in his head. Pain in his stomach. Pain in his arms and legs. Pain.

Tears slid freely down Sam's cheeks, his mouth hung open loosely as he hoped and prayed that it was over. A deep stinging ran over his stomach. He couldn't move. The pain literally left him paralyzed. He had no idea how he still had the strength to hold himself up.

"...Sammy...it's okay..."

Word that didn't make sense began to register in his brain.

Slowly, he began to feel Dean's hand on his back again. Everything was coming back. But he was still crying - which hurt. He couldn't help it. Sam couldn't do anything else but stay there and cry. He didn't want to. Hell, he really wanted to stop. It was hurting him, but he couldn't stop. To his right, he saw his father get on his knees so that he was eye-level with him. John put his hand on his shoulder, massaging his shoulder.

"Just calm down, son," his voice was soft and soothing. "You need to take deep breaths... calm down."

Sam tried. Damn, he tried to do what he was told, but his body wasn't listening to him. He tried to take deep breaths. He tried to calm down. He tried to stop crying, but he couldn't. Everything was just too overwhelming right now. John wrapped his arms around Sam, pulling him closer. Sam didn't have the strength to hold him back or put any effort into it. The horrible pain in his stomach still reducing him to tears. That was the only thing he could do. Sam buried his head in his father's shoulder. John carded through his hair as he began rocking back and forth slightly. Dean watch on, clearly just as heartbroken as his father. Both of them had on brave faces - just like they always do, but they could see through it. Both of them were on the verge of tears.

John tightened his grip around Sam, doing all he could to get him to just calm down.

"It'll be okay," he whispered to him, resting his cheek on the top of Sam's head. "It'll be okay, Sammy."

* * *

Again, sorry for the delay. It usually _never _takes me this long to update. I'm really sorry. But if you're gonna yell at me, at least do it in a review? :)


	9. Chapter 9

_Author's Note: _As always, thank you so much for everyone who has taken the time to read and more thanks to the ones who have been reviewing. I really appreciate hearing what you have to say. All of your words and thoughts really help and inspire me to keep writing each and every chapter for you guys.

_Warning: _Torture scenes (flashbacks)

* * *

_Chapter Nine:_

* * *

They had fallen asleep right there on the tile ground. John, still on his knees with Sam slumped in his arms, his head still buried in the bow of his neck. John's hands were wrapped around Sam firmly, keeping him securely in place. Eventually, Sam had quieted. They were sure of the exact time when, but he had cried for what seemed like hours. But it couldn't have been... could it? But Dean felt each and every minute of it. All the pain Sam felt , he felt it too. All the memories that suddenly came crashing back to him, Dean remembered it, too. And all the sickness in his stomach that caused his muscles to tighten, causing more agony than anything.. Dean felt that, too. All he wanted to do was take the pain away from Sam. He wanted to make everything alright. But he couldn't. There was literally nothing Dean could do.

But he sat there now in the same position he had sat in then. He felt something that he'd never felt before, though. As he sat there at the edge of the tub, his hands folded, with his chin resting on them, he sat and watched his father and brother. Sam had finally calmed down, John's arms still sheltering him. They had both gone quiet and now Dean was unsure of what he should do. He didn't want to just leave them there, but by the slackness of Sam's body and his slow, even breathing told Dean that he was no longer in pain. And that, was something Dean wanted to keep. He didn't want Sam to suffer anymore.

Pushing past his instincts, he stood. Dean walked to the middle of the bathroom floor where his father and brother were. Reaching out with one hand he shook his father's shoulder. The side of his face was buried in Sam's hair and Dean saw him twitch a little at the touch. Dean shook his shoulder again. Slowly, John's head raised and he looked up at Dean, his eyes were blurry.

"You fell asleep," Dean says softly, gesturing with his head to Sam in his father's arms. John looked down at his son, then up at his other, then smiled.

John let his hand fall in Sam's hair, petting it softly.

"At least he's calm," John says with a slight shrug.

Dean nodded. "Yeah, the only upside to this whole little episode."

Again John takes a look at Sam. There's still as pained look on his face, even when he's a sleep. His hands are still gripping tight to the sides of John's shirt, like he's afraid to let go. He used to do that when he was younger. John motioned with his head.

"Take him."

Dean didn't move. "He's gonna wake up-"

John didn't have to answer. Dean knew he should just do what he was told, it was easier.

He walked behind Sam, but stopped short as he waited for his dad to loosen Sam's fingers on his shirt. John nodded at him, pushing Sam's weight back and into Dean's arms. Dean fixed his grip, steadied himself, then stood up straight. Sam's head fell in his shoulder and his arm hung, swaying at his side. Dean began to walk, slightly amazed that Sam hadn't woken up yet. The last time he was able to pick Sam up without him waking was when he was about three or four. So at this, Dean wasn't sure if he would he happy that he stayed asleep or worried that all this movement didn't pull him away from his slumber.

John took a while to get back to his feet. Under Sam's weight, his legs had fallen asleep, leaving only a tingling sensation running through them. John ran his hands down his legs until the feeling and nerves came back.

Outside the bathroom, Dean had taken Sam to the bed and lay him gently in the middle of it, pulling the thin sheets over him.

Then, John finally exited the bathroom.

"He still asleep?"

Even though he knew the answer, Dean looked over his shoulder at Sam then back at his father. "Didn't move a muscle."

John nodded, then gestured to the table in the kitchen area.

"C'mere, son. We need to talk."

_-Mind's Eye-_

"I refuse to believe Bobby did this," John began, his hands planted firmly on the table.

Dean shrugged. "Sam couldn't lie about this-"

"I never said he was lying, but there's other options."

In the back of his mind, that thought had crossed, but he never had the time to say it a loud.

"Shape shifter?" Dean guess.

John nodded. "Possession's a possibility, too. Or... some freak accident."

Dean sat back. "There's no way that this was an accident. No one _accidentally _did this to Sam. You don't accidentally torture someone for a week, and especially not to the extent they went with Sam. You just don't."

The tone Dean had, John didn't like, but what he was saying was true. "Mind control or something?"

The younger Winchester didn't know what to think, so he shrugged.

"Anything's a possibility right now, I guess. We don't know what happened. Especially is Sam doesn't know... or isn't awake to tell us."

Both agreed. John stood.

"Either way, as soon as this storm lets up, we're going to pay a little visit to Bobby."

* * *

_This was a little shorter than usual, but of course it's leading up to a lot of action.  
Also, for those of you who didn't know, I've started a new story that I'm actually very pleased with. It's called, "Ignorance Is Bliss". So if you haven't checked that out already, please do. Love and support is always appreciated. _

_Please review!_


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